


So Cold

by NogitsuneShadow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Other additional tags to be added as necessary, Spoilers, Team Free Will, season 9 finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NogitsuneShadow/pseuds/NogitsuneShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Castiel have to adjust to Dean becoming a demon. It has the possibility to bring them closer or tear them apart.<br/>Dean has to adjust to being a demon and deciding if he wants to fight for his humanity or if he will let his new, inherent nature overwhelm him.<br/>/This story has been dropped. Sorry! If you really have an interest tell me. Might get me interested enough to do something with it./</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first fanfiction on this site or in years. I keep in practice with roleplaying but I'm still a little worried about putting something out there that isn't anonymous on Omegle. I would love to hear feedback or criticism in the comments and kudos would also be much appreciated. I will be updating this rather soon.
> 
> The title comes from the song So Cold by Nikisha Reyes.
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys.

~Prologue~

* * *

 

At first there was nothing but pain. Nothing like Hell but that didn't make it any easier to deal with. It was relatively quick which was a small blessing.

 

After that there was darkness. It wasn't the sort of darkness that meant the lights were off. The darkness was an all encroaching thing that sucked up everything in its wake. Everything succumbed to it until there was nothing.

 

Nothing was soothing. It meant that there would be time for rest. That should have lasted, the nothingness, but a presence, a voice, started pulling him out.

 

He had died and come back more than once, it wasn't a new thing, but usually he was faced with someone that he cared about, that he trusted. It could have been Sam, Tessa—had she not ganked herself—, or Cas. Instead all he could hear was Crowley.  He missed the quiet.

 

_Your brother, bless his soul, is summoning me as I speak. Make a deal. Bring you back. It’s exactly what I was talking about, isn't it? It’s all become so expected._

 

No. Sam can’t do that. He wasn't letting Sam go to Hell for decades just to bring him back.

 

_You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on the mark of Cain I didn't know this was going to happen. Not really._

 

That had to be a lie. He and Crowley may have gotten along to a point recently, been fighting towards the same goal, but that didn't mean he trusted the man. Demon. King of Hell.

 

_I mean I might not have told you the entire truth but I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That’s important. It’s fundamental._

 

It sounded like Crowley was serious for a change. He realized that Crowley didn't particularly lie, only that he skewed the truth. It wasn't much better but he understood to a point. He’d killed Abaddon and Metatron—well he hoped someone had killed Metatron—and that had been his end goal. He still came out on top.

 

Oh shit. Now what? If Crowley told him he was in Hell he would expect it to a point but he hadn't fallen the same way. It hadn't hurt like before. It was almost peaceful once the pain of being stabbed, of his body falling apart, had faded. He did what he had to and Sam was safe. It was good. Though when someone said ‘but’ it was reason for concern.

 

_There is one story about Cain that I might have forgotten to tell you._

 

Not surprising. Better than hearing that Sam was dead.

 

_Apparently, he too was willing to accept death rather than becoming the killer the mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the blade. He died._

 

He and Crowley had seen Cain. That made no sense.

 

_Except, as rumor has it, the mark never quite let go._

 

If he was able to do anything he would be complaining for Crowley to stop making dramatic pauses and to get on with it.

 

_You can understand why I never spoke of this. Why set hearts a flutter at mere speculation?_

 

It sounded like stalling. There were too many pauses. Crowley’s voice was so slow that it was making him drowsy. All he wanted was the summary.

 

_It wasn't until you summoned me, no, it wasn't truly until you left the cheeseburger uneaten, that I began to let myself believe: maybe miracles do come true._

 

Cain being alive hadn't been a miracle and neither was his lack of having a hunger for cheeseburgers. He had no idea what Crowley was getting at. Part of him thought that he was in Hell, stuck listening to the man’s English drawl go on with a monologue for eternity. Better than torture but pretty unpleasant.

 

_Listen to me, Dean Winchester._

 

Present. Can hear you loud and clear.

 

_What you’re feeling right now it’s not death, its life._

 

He was pretty sure that he could tell the difference between life and death considering how many times he’d gone through the process. Though to be honest it didn't feel like any of the other times. Maybe Crowley had a point.

 

_A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see, feel what I feel. Let’s go take a howl at that moon._

 

That was when he opened his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shocked at how many hits this has gotten and the amount of love. It is most likely because of those kind words that I worked on this chapter to get it banged out. Not two in one day but two in 24 hours so close enough. Anyway hope you enjoy the second chapter. I also hope that these aren't too bad of cliff hangers.

Knowing that Crowley had brought him back to consciousness was annoying. With his eyes open it was like he was seeing the world from a different perspective. Things were different but clear. He felt like he didn’t fit in his own body. It was tight and ill fitting. The ceiling seemed closer than it actually was though his depth perception was fine. He laid there for a few moments—or was it minutes? Time was out of sorts at the moment—to try getting used to the sensation. It didn't go away.

 

Dean realized belatedly that he didn’t hear Crowley anymore. He didn’t sense anyone in the room with him either. It wasn’t that he felt heavy but he had to reorient himself before he could even shift his limbs.

 

Once Dean checked to make sure he could move all of his limbs, nothing more than shifting a foot or arm, he pushed himself to sit up. He realized that he should be bleeding and placed a hand to his chest, frowning when he didn’t feel a hole there. The pain was gone and all he felt was smooth skin. There was no pain to go along with it which had him tilting his head slightly.

 

With how often Dean had nightmares he considered that being stabbed could have been a terrible dream but the blood on his clothes and hole in his shirt told him otherwise. He heaved a heavy sigh and pushed himself up with the intent of going to find Sam. If Sam had bothered bringing him back to the bunker he probably planned on making a deal for him, as Crowley had said, and either way he wouldn’t go far. Crowley wasn’t in the room with him anymore so that meant Sam must have summoned him. It had to be in the cell since he had the ingredients laid out. Dean made his way down there, noting that his body felt oddly light as he quietly stepped through the bunker.

* * *

 

Once Sam finished the spell he had Crowley stuck in the devil’s trap. It was frustrating knowing that Crowley was the reason that Dean was dead, that Dean had the mark in the first place. Castiel and Gadreel got the angel tablet destroyed so they didn’t need to send Dean in on a kamikaze mission. He should have known that Dean would have gone solo but it felt better blaming Crowley rather than dealing with the guilt of knowing that he could have done something differently.

 

“’Ello, Moose,” Crowley replied once he appeared. He already knew that he’d been summoned to the same place and that the trap wasn’t going to be removed. It was a shame that there wasn’t a chair around. “Miss me already?”

 

Sam’s fingers twitched in agitation but he forced himself to stay calm. Screaming at Crowley wouldn’t do anything. He needed to talk to the man, make a deal, and hope to never see him again unless they decide to kill the man.

 

“It’s Dean,” Sam started, voice hard and borderline hoarse from the emotion though he didn’t think his eyes would be red anymore. He did have trouble saying Dean’s name though he tried not to think about it. “He got stabbed. Metatron,”Sam practically growled the name. “Bring him back.”

 

Crowley’s lips twitched into a small smirk, not able to help himself. The Winchesters were adorable in that stupid kicked puppy sort of way. It was amusing how Sam was making up for Dean’s sacrifice by doing his own but it wasn’t even necessary. He should take advantage but they’d done him a favor, Dean was on his team, and they didn’t kill him when he was vulnerable. “As much as I love to help out my golden boys it would be a rather unfair trade.”

 

Sam scowled, eyes narrowing dangerously. “It wasn’t a suggestion. I don’t care what I have to do. I can keep you down here until you’ll give me what I want.” Not that it would be a good idea. Dean’s body would start to decay. The thought of that had his stomach churning. It was a good thing that he hadn’t eaten. “Cro-”

 

“Sam?”

 

Crowley was the first to see Dean in the doorway. The elder Winchester’s eyes were still full of the night sky and it was quite the sight. He thought it was a good look for him. In the back of his mind he wondered how much Dean had heard from his little pep talk. More of a friendship, giving himself brownie points sort of thing but he wasn’t going to judge himself in the safety in his own head.

 

Sam of course had his mouth hanging open, both from Dean walking and his eyes. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to go for a weapon, which was true enough, but he knew that Dean had an anti-possession tattoo. He took a step forward and Dean fluidly slid into a mild stance. Sam noticed the first blade in Dean’s fingers and frowned. He wasn’t going to start an argument and get stabbed. “Dean…,” he started quietly, walking slowly up to Dean.

 

Dean’s eyes narrowed a little before he relaxed, rolling his shoulders to try and feel like he fit in his own skin. It had felt wrong when he came back from Hell but it wasn’t the same. He could only hope that it wouldn’t last for long. “I’m fine.” Dean tried sounding assuring but his voice was gravely, even to his own ears.

 

Sam finally got in Dean’s personal space and reached up to grab his shirt, pulling it down to see the anti-demon tattoo still firmly in place, undisturbed. He thought it would make him feel better but possession he understood. The reasoning behind Dean’s eyes terrified him if he was right. “Your eyes…”

 

The comment had Dean tilting his head a bit. “You hit your head, Sammy? I got stabbed in the chest. Punched around a bit but my eyes are fine.” He was about to take a step back when Sam held out the demon blade but forced himself still. Dean watched as Sam tilted the blade and when he saw his reflection he did take a few steps back.

 

Dean’s eyes widened and he glanced between the blade, Sam, and Crowley. He lingered on the king of hell and growled, walking towards the trapped man.

 

“Dean!” Sam held a hand out to block Dean’s path, shoving him back when Dean smacked his arm away. “You want to be stuck in there with him?”

 

It had been said. Even Crowley looked solemn for once. Sam was the first to break the silence. “Dean… We don’t know what’s going on but we’ll figure it out and fix it… We always do.”

 

“Not to break up the beautiful family moment but we all already know what it is. I told Squirrel what happened if the Sleeping Beauty was paying attention.” Crowley felt the need to add a comment despite Sam’s hard expression. He wasn’t intimidated despite his current position.

 

“I heard,” Dean replied softly. He had been so worried about Sam that he’d left thinking about Crowley’s words for later.

 

“What did he tell you,” Sam asked in exasperation. He was sick of being left out of conversations, of plans, and being treated like a nuisance.

 

“Cain tried to commit suicide and ended up like this.” It was paraphrasing but Dean didn’t give a damn. There was no reason to. He glanced down at the first blade in his hand and frowned, free hand shoving into his pocket. “I didn’t know.”

 

Crowley held his hands up defensively when Sam turned to him. “Don’t look at me. It was a rumor. No one knew if it was true.” He hadn’t guessed until later anyway. There was no reason to tell anyone, no obligation. It wasn’t as if he thought Dean was going to die either way. Apparently he’d been wrong. He was not a fan of being wrong.

 

Sam looked between Dean and Crowley, not really knowing what to do. They might be able to get something useful out of Crowley but it wasn’t worth the King of Hell being around a newly formed demon. He wasn’t sure how it worked but he didn’t want to take any chances.

 

Walking up to the edge of Crowley’s holding he scuffed his foot over the paint to break the seal. “Get out.”

 

Crowley chuckled softly and walked out of the circle, turning his gaze to Dean. “Watch out for the moose. He’s a bit feisty. Might not want to get cut around him either,” he advised with a playful wink before disappearing. With Crowley gone it left Sam to watch Dean, dark eyes wide in concern and something that he really didn’t want to place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are getting progressively longer which is lovely. I'm surprised I'm getting chapters out so quickly but I'm sure no one is complaining about that. I'm making this up as I go along so feel free to comment with suggestions or leave me a message on my Tumblr which is 3milychan. Thanks to everyone for the new kudos and comments. Every one of them, even hits, make me light up. Might also be a large contributor to my fast updates. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

The first thing Sam did was offer to make something for Dean to eat. When that didn’t get much out of his brother he suggested pie and the elder Winchester didn’t seem fazed at all. Dean probably didn’t need to eat much as a demon but that didn’t mean that Sam was going to let him get away with it.

 

More than anything he had hoped to snap Dean back to normal, for the black eyes to go away and for everything to seem like some hallucination made by Lucifer but that was such a long time ago. He wondered if the archangel would be offended knowing that seeing Dean as he was in that moment scared him more than any vision he’d been given. The answer wasn’t relevant but the train of thought bought him a few seconds.

 

Dean had his eyes on the devil’s trap, more than a bit distracted by the thought that it would have an effect on him. The bunker was filled with sigils and so was Baby. Some redecorating was going to be in order.

 

He glanced up at Sam to see his brother watching him warily. Sam didn’t know what to do and he imagined that it was a natural response. Then again if the roles had been reversed Dean would have used violence most likely. He went over Crowley’s last words in his mind and was about to decipher them when Sam tried speaking up again.

 

“Maybe you could shower? You’re still bloody and it might make you feel better.” Sam hoped that it would make Dean’s eyes change. That was the main reasoning. He couldn’t stand looking at Dean with such dead eyes. His instincts told him to pounce and grab the demon knife to plunge it through Dean’s heart. Sam’s nostrils flared as he took a deep breath through his nose, letting it out slowly.

 

“Yeah. Fine.” There was no reason not to. The hot water might feel good against his skin, even though it didn’t feel like he was entirely pressed up against it. Apparently demon smoke didn’t reach every nook and cranny like a soul did, even if it was still his own body.

 

Sam watched Dean as he walked away with a nervous expression. “I’m glad you’re alive, Dean,” he murmured softly.

 

Although the words were faint Dean could hear them loud and clear. “ _Alive_ ,” he thought to himself. Crowley might have thought he was alive but Dean wasn’t so sure.

 

Time seemed to blur because he went from the hallway to the bathroom. He glanced down at his feet and frowned, wondering if he’d used demon mojo or if he simply drifted off into his own thoughts. Dean sighed and reached over to turn the water on, having to switch hands because the one he reached out with had the first blade.

 

It felt like an extension of himself so it was easy to forget that it was there. When he was human it throbbed and demanded his attention but as a demon it was nothing but a dull, constant press. He set it down on the counter and wanted to pick it up but it didn’t call out to him as if he had to. Dean felt in control of the urges but that didn’t stop him from picking it right back up.

 

The blood was dried on his skin and caked on in places but it didn’t bother him. Dean only agreed to a shower for the heat. He thought that something familiar might make him feel more like himself since his appetite had left the building.

 

Stepping into the shower in his clothes wasn’t the best idea but it wouldn’t hurt anything. He kicked his shoes and socks off before stepping into the shower. The water felt cold and he frowned, looking up at the stream as if it was trying to annoy him. He turned the water on high. Underneath the demon part of him he knew that it was too hot, would make his skin red and agitated, but he left it as it was, shifting to sit down on the tile.

 

Dean sat down in the middle of the water and pulled his knees up, resting his palms on them with the blade hanging limply from a hand. The blood pooled around him to dye the water and the sight was strangely calming. None of it should be since he’d been tortured in Hell but he didn’t feel too bad. It was difficult to put words to how he felt. Hollow resonated well with him. He didn’t feel like he was himself, like there was so much more to come.

* * *

 

“Dean?” Sam knocked on the door for the fifth time, getting concerned.

 

“What,” Dean asked belatedly.

 

“You’ve been in there for an hour.”

 

Dean blinked a few times and looked down at himself, turning his free hand to see the skin pruning. He also realized that the water was brisk and it had him frowning. “I’m fine. Give me a minute.”

 

Sam sighed softly to himself, waiting for Dean to come out, and handed him a change of clothes when the man was only in a towel. He looked over the anti-possession tattoo as well as the lack of a hole in Dean’s chest.

 

“Rude to stare.” Dean’s voice showed that he didn’t care but it was said anyway. He grabbed the clothes and pushed the door closed to get changed. Once he was done he came out to see Sam exactly where he’d left him.

 

Sam noticed that he hadn’t made eye contact with Dean since he’d left and slowly he raised his gaze. Hazel eyes were watching him and he visibly relaxed. It didn’t change what had happened to Dean, what he was, but seeing Dean looking like himself was helpful.

 

“Sorry.” Sam caught the first blade still hanging limply in Dean’s hand and the tension was right back. “Can you let go of that? You’re safe here,” he reminded softly.

 

“So? Doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

 

“I don’t think you’re fine. Cas wouldn’t think you’re fine.”

 

Dean’s fingers curled tight enough on the blade at Castiel’s name that his skin turned white around the knuckles. He watched Sam take a step back and he could practically smell the fear radiating off of him. “He thought you were the abomination before. Maybe it’s my turn.”

 

Sam’s expression fell further at the comment. Dean could be cynical but there were things they simply didn’t mention. He stood up straighter, feeling the need to prove that he could handle Dean’s words and abrasiveness, and held his hand out. “Metatron is gone. We’re back to a democracy and we both know that Cas would be on my side. Give me the blade.” He hoped Metatron was gone at least. They hadn’t heard from Castiel yet.

 

Dean tensed again at the demand, having his words thrown back at him, and his eyes narrowed. The black infected hazel like a disease and he saw Sam hesitate for a moment before the strength was back.

 

“Now, Dean.”

 

Dean could have refused but fighting with Sam could be tedious and he didn’t want to let loose some demon powers on accident or accidentally stab Sam in the chest for making a bitch face. He glanced down at the blade and held his hand out, letting go of it once Sam’s fingers wrapped around the hilt.

 

Seeing the blade in someone else’s hand had something in Dean boiling. The anger grew until he could see red before Sam murmured a soft “thank you” before quickly turning to put his blade away. He could get it back later. Until then he needed something to do so he made his way to the kitchen to grab a large bottle of tequila. It was Sam’s fault for mentioning Castiel. Now all Dean could do was picture the angel’s face, whether it be disappointment or fear or resentment or even hatred, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

 

Dean did what he always did when faced with an issue he couldn’t use violence to solve: he bottled it up and drank and drank until things went fuzzy and didn’t seem so important anymore.


End file.
